


Pączki, Churros and Phone Calls

by chewsdaychillin



Series: gbbo au [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Gen, Getting Together, Hugs, M/M, Slow Burn, Texting, and hot oil but in a pg rated way, gbbo au, perhaps theyre both acts of service gays, polish martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/pseuds/chewsdaychillin
Summary: It's week five in the Bake Off tent, and today the bakers have been challenged to make deep fried delicacies. (Which can be difficult if you don't have fryer at home.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, pre relationship - Relationship
Series: gbbo au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889245
Comments: 40
Kudos: 194





	Pączki, Churros and Phone Calls

**Author's Note:**

> more of the boys being stupid and cute.. incoming... thanks to my beta chat and to my polish friends who helped me out! some creds must ofc go to rendherring and her anons who inspired us all so much x

A sweeping aerial shot of the tent. 

MEL  
Last week it was all about Italian. Jon’s genoise rose to the top of the tent - 

Jon furiously whips air into a bowl of batter. 

We cut to the judges trying the finished cake: 

PAUL  
That is a damn good sponge. 

Jon’s frown melts into a surprised smile. 

SUE  
Tim struggled with biscotti - 

Tim swears furiously at a pile of broken biscuits. Martin nervously pats his shoulder. 

SUE  
But in the end it was Oliver - 

Oliver grimaces as a fork breaks into his bake. Even in disappointment he is extremely sexy.

MARY  
The marzipan is just... far too crumbly.

SUE  
That met his Bake Off end.

Everyone gasps and sighs and  _ awws _ and says goodbye to Oliver. He hugs a surprised Jon in the middle of the group circle.

OLIVER  
No, don’t worry, happens to all good things. 

From between out of focus well-wishers, Martin stares daggers at the two of them. 

  
  
  
  


_ [Text Received: from _ Jon Sims  _ at  _ 14:04]   
Good afternoon 

How is your practice going?

_ [Text Received: from _ Martin (from bake off!)  _ at _ 14:07]  
Good afternoon?  😂  what is this a job interview? 

[14:07]  
Sorry. I’m not sure what the etiquette is for ‘popping up’. And in my defence it is the afternoon...

[14:08]  
That it is! ill allow it haha 

Practice is going.... Well let’s just say its going! Hbu?

[14:09]  
What are you making? Or is that a secret? Mine seems to be going alright. I'm not entirely convinced by the batter density, but I think I know how to fix it. 

[14:09]  
Sounds like youre on your way to another win! Congrats again, by the way! That sponge was so good! 

[14:10]  
Thank you :-) 

[14:12]  
Is it a secret then, what you’re making? I promise I won’t steal your recipe 

[14:12]  
Oh no haha sorry I didnt see

Im making paczki! It’s like a polish donut you probably haven’t heard of it. 

Or you have! Sorry for assuming, most people haven’t though. 

[14:13]  
I hadn’t. You're not Polish are you? 

[14:14]  
One side of the family is yeah! We aren’t super close anymore but I like to try and make things I vaguely remember from being a kid

I dont know, it’s probably lame but I try and connect to it you know? 

[14:15]  
Anyway 

[14:15]  
The google image results look nice. Jam donuts are clearly the superior donut so I commend you for that 

[14:16]  
Cheers haha im doing a few different jams I think, but we’ll see how the timing works out at the weekend  **😬**

[14:18]  
So practice going that badly? 

[14:21]  
Well I finally got the kitchen to myself for a couple of hours and im not loving my first batch :( 

Plus it looks like a bomb site 

[14:21]  
Oh? 

[14:21]  
[An image: a small kitchen with very 70s brown colouring looks like flour exploded all over it. Several bowls of varying states of dough cover most of the surfaces. An eggwash brush drips oil across the counter. The sink is full of washing up. A deep frying pan of oil bubbles gently on the stove. A few sad looking balls of fried dough are drip drying on a wire rack balanced on top of the mess.]

[14:21]  
Good lord 

[14:21]  
Knew you’d say that haha 

[14:22]  
That oil doesn’t look very hot. You don’t have a fryer? 

[14:22]  
No :/ im a bit worried about using one when we film because I’ve never used one before 

[14:27]  
I could lend you mine? To practice I mean 

[14:28]  
Aw thanks thats really nice of you... 

but I can’t really come to London and get it can I haha 

[14:28]  
That is very reasonable, but just know I offered so it’s entirely your fault if you mess it up 

[14:29]  
Sorry that was a joke

[14:35]  
I was joking... I can help if you want?

[14:36]  
Sorry! Dough explosion! 

Its okay I know you’re joking ;)

[14:36]  
Explosion?! Ok good

[14:37]  
Im fine dw haha 

Kitchen on the other hand... 

Honestly wouldn’t say no to some advice w this frying malarky :/ 

[14:40]  
You need to turn the oil up 

[14:40]  
Ahhhh dont want to do that! 

[14:40]  
? 

[14:40]  
It keeps splashing me and it hurts! I really dont wanna get burned :( 

[14:41]  
You took out that huge spider last week but you’re scared of a little oil? 

[14:41]  
Shut up! It’s spitting at me! Like it hates me personally

[14:41]  
You’ll be fine just stand back? 

It won’t be so bad with the fryer 

[14:41]  
I will hold you to that 

[14:43]  
Thanks for the advice though :) 

[14:43]  
You’re welcome :-) 

Have fun cleaning your kitchen explosion 

[14:44]  
God don’t even... I literally have flour all over me 

[14:44]  
I don't know how you manage it 

[14:45]  
There’s half-fried dough in my hair 

[14:51]  
You’re exaggerating... surely... 

[14:52]  
[selfie: Martin does an awkward thumbs up to camera. He is smiling but his eyes are drawn with dread to the huge mess of oil, dough, flour, and jam about the counter. There is some on his apron, his shirt, the floor. He was not lying - there are indeed small clumps of dough in his hair.]

It’s such a mess AND I have work tonight AND I still have to go round mum’s before that

[14:57]  
Suppose you’ll be expecting me to help clear up 

[14:57]  
Not expecting! You always offer, you dont have to!

[15:01]  
I'm deeply sighing and packing my dettol for a trip to Manchester as we speak 

[15:03]  
Megabus is only a quid :)

  
  
  
  


Jon really should have done his deliberating  _ before  _ he stepped out into the hall with something this heavy. His arms are starting to ache a bit now with how long he’s been dithering outside the door. 

It’s the right room, at least he doesn’t have that to worry about. He’d asked Tim and then asked reception just to be sure, only they wouldn’t tell him - privacy or some bollocks - so he’d had to bribe the housekeeper. Shame to be short a tenner but he didn’t exactly have time to figure out a blackmail strategy. And he doesn’t think Martin would have liked that. Or maybe he would. How is Jon supposed to know? He barely knows the man.  _ Barely knows him,  _ just been texting for... what? A couple of days? 

It feels like longer. 

Christ this fryer is heavy. He shucks it up into his arms again and it clangs most unsubtly. Jon winces and looks at the carpet as he slowly raises a fist. And knocks. 

There’s long enough silence that he worries this is entirely pointless. Martin never asked him to do this, it’s going to be weird. He’s probably entirely misread the situation. Plus he shouldn’t be helping the competition. Texting advice was one thing, this is... 

Ugh. He cringes remember the long minutes he’d sat contemplating the sodding texting. Longer just staring (he’d say glaring but he knows it isn’t true) at that...  _ selfie,  _ he's loath to call it. It had taken Oriel and Mister both jumping on his chest and demanding dinner to get him to shoot off the reply he’d been agonising over like a tit. 

And Martin's not answering anyway. So he might as well leave before he looks even more of an idiot and - 

The door opens. 

‘Oh,’ Martin says, sort of squeaky with his eyebrows raised into his hairline. He’s already in his pyjamas. ‘Hi Jon.’

Jon looks away respectfully, awkwardly. Why did he even bring the damn thing on the train? This is awful, he doesn’t need to  _ impress  _ anyone with how nice he is. He isn’t nice. This is a competition. 

‘Did you... need something?’ Martin asks and Jon snaps at him, already annoyed with how stupid he probably looks and how much his arms ache and how soft Martin’s stupid bed socks look. 

‘Don’t be obtuse, Martin.’ 

‘Alright... is that...?’

‘It’s a fryer. A deep fat fryer, I brought it from London since you couldn’t come down.’ He holds it out firmly. ‘I thought you could use the practice.’ That makes him wince again. ‘I mean, I thought you might find it useful. Not that you... could you take it, please, it’s heavy.’ 

He’s not entirely sure he can get a read on Martin’s expression other than surprise. Very clearly surprise. As soon as the fryer is out of his arms he finds them crossing defensively, his chest feeling rather exposed without the heavy metal guarding it. 

‘That’s- this is...,’ Martin says, and he pauses like he’s not sure yet exactly what this is. 

Jon can’t resist looking up at him then, even though he’s sure he’s going to see... he’s not sure what he’s going to see but this was a stupid idea. He only hopes Martin isn’t gawking at him. 

He isn’t. Instead he’s staring, Bambi-eyed into the basket of the fryer like a shepherd at the manger. Time drags through mud as Jon watches him, worried now that he might cry which was not at all the intention.

Then Martin breathes and looks back at him again. 

‘That’s really nice of you,’ he finishes.

He’s not crying thank god, but his soft look wounds Jon's chest despite his folded arms. He’s not entirely sure why. 

  
  
  


A little animated drawing traces the shape of a basket of churros and a small jar of dark chocolate sauce. 

SUE  
Jon is making cinnamon churros, which will be rolled in sugar and dipped in dark chocolate, inspired by the seaside snacks of his childhood in Bournemouth. 

INT. BAKE OFF TENT - DAY

Jon is rolling out dough. Mel is watching him. 

JON  
No, I didn’t really eat these  _ that  _ often. I mean, I chose them because I like them and I thought it would be less obvious than donuts but - 

She stares. He shrugs 

JON  
I mean it’s only tourists buy food on the pier, really. They don’t know about the seagulls. And it’s cold down there. What?

A beat. He fiddles with the oil. 

The camera pulls back and is meant with an awkward pause. 

MEL  
I thought that was your whole thing. You know Sue's done a whole thing on you being from the seaside. 

The music stops. They look at each other. 

JON  
Oh. sorry. Look I never said- I think someone must have- I mean I have eaten them there a  _ few  _ times - 

Mel dissolves into laughs. 

Georgie turns around from her bench, grinning. 

GEORGIE  
Jonathan, are you inventing childhood recipes? 

A giggle-snort from nearby - the camera whips round to catch Martin laughing into his hand. 

JON  
Martin! I am not!  (The camera whips back)  These are Spanish anyway!

Everyone continues laughing. Mel mimes a flamenco dance. Georgie claps her hands like a castanet beat. Jon elects to stubbornly stand still through this facade. 

Eventually it dies down. 

JON  
Can I bake now?

MEL  
Yeah, you bake. 

She pats him on the shoulder and leaves. 

Georgie turns back to her funnel cake, then whispers to a close up camera: 

GEORGIE  
Mentiroso...

  
  
  


INT. BAKE OFF TENT - DAY

The judges arrive at Martin’s bench. He is nervously watching the oil from a distance, and shuffles down to the end of the bench to meet them, out of spitting distance. 

SUE  
Is it out to get you?

MARTIN  
Finally, someone believes me!

They all have a good chuckle and Martin’s posture relaxes a bit. He looks far from calm, but far more easy with the judges and cameras than he did on week one. 

MARY  
Would you tell us about your bake please? 

MARTIN  
Yes! So I'm making pączki, it’s a Polish recipe, kind of like a jam donut. And I'm doing some with raspberry jam and some with plum, which is more traditional.

MARY  
Oh, sounds lovely, I think I’ve heard of it.

MARTIN  
Yeah! So they’re traditionally eaten before Lent, you know, kind of like pancake day here? To use up all the flour and lard and stuff. They’ve actually got more fat in than donuts we have here, the dough is a bit richer. And I think they’re older I think - they’ve been around since the Middle Ages!

PAUL  
Well, we look forward to trying them.

The judges leave smiling. Sue hangs back. 

SUE  
You know we don’t actually do the history section anymore, right? 

MARTIN  
Oh, sorry.  (He laughs nervously)  I’ve been doing a lot of reading. 

SUE  
No it’s great - you’re like our little solution to BBC budget cuts. No more extra shoots, just you reading the Wikipedia page for Polish donuts. 

They share a giggle. 

  
  
  


Martin is always stressed in the tent. This week nothing has changed. He’s excited about his recipe sure, but this week there is hot oil to contend with. The tent is boiling, everyone’s fryers bubbling away in the middle of June, and he is sweating double from worry and the heat. 

None of this is helped in the slightest by the fact he keeps checking on his injury-prone back bench buddy out of the corner of his eye. 

There’s a manic energy to the way Jon works. And absolutely no shred of fear. 

He’s pushed his sleeves up, rolled them  _ over _ his elbows and  _ God _ Martin feels so bloody Victorian with how red he’s going trying not to look. But in his defence it's really hot in here! Really hot and Jon has very nice forearms! Wiry and warm, with dark hair and a scar on his left elbow and surprisingly delicate wrists and - 

‘How does it make sense to push your sleeves  _ up  _ when you’re frying hot oil?’ Martin demands. ‘I don’t have time to bandage you up twice, you know!’

Jon grins as he haphazardly chucks another churro in the fryer with his fingers, which are half blue with the plasters Martin helped him stick on. He makes no move away from the hissing and spitting. 

‘It’s fine,’ he insists, fishing in the bubbling liquid with a spatula. 

  
  
  


Martin is still reeling by the time they get him in front of Sasha and her camera. He thinks dimly as he blinks back tears that she will finally have got her wish. He’s going to cry on TV if they roll up soon. 

‘Congratulations,’ she beams. 

He guesses the camera is on already. Of course it is. ‘Thank you. I’m-’

Yup here come the waterworks. Nice one. 

‘Sorry,’ he sniffs, ‘I never, um. I never expected to win anything. I didn’t think it would go that well.’ 

He looks upwards, blinking furiously.

Sasha smiles, and sympathises enough now to hand him a tissue. ‘Is there someone you want to call?’ 

Ah. Never expecting to win anything has blinded Martin to the reality that this moment, when they show it on telly, is the confessional bit where the winner normally calls their family and everyone cheers down the line and the public falls in love with them. 

He can’t call his mum. 

‘Um,’ he says, wiping his eyes again. He wishes he could say it’s to buy time but really the tragic reality is making him well up again. Ugh. ‘I don’t really, um. I don’t think I should.’

Sasha frowns, her face falling and confused and  _ God what a stupid way to phrase that now she’s going to think... God what’s she going to think? _

The thrill of victory is starting to fade with the much more familiar prickling of anxiety, and Martin finds he’s looking down the lens more and more. His eyes only flicking to Sasha as he tries to say-

‘Only it’s just... uh. Well, my mum doesn’t actually know I’m here.’ 

Sasha’s eyes widen, first in obvious pity which Martin hates, and then in something that unnerves him more. Almost a thrill of her own. 

He fiddles with his hands, peering over her shoulder, over his, down the camera  _ again _ , wondering if he’s that good TV or if she’s going to tell him he’s broken some rule or -

‘Do you think,’ Sasha tries, far more gently than he’d thought. It still doesn’t help his skin crawling. ‘Do you think maybe this would be a good time to tell her? I’m sure she’d be really proud.’ 

Martin chokes on a dry scoff that probably sounds more like a sob. Oh Jesus. This is pathetic, she’s going to think he’s so pathetic. 

He looks behind her again, avoiding what he knows is going to be judgement and something sad in her eyes, and sees the others all gathered together. Hugging and saying goodbye to Michael, no doubt, which he feels awful about. He thinks he catches Georgie looking over at him, then Jon turns round and that is somehow also terrible. 

He can’t call - it’s gone five, mum will be settling in for the Corrie omnibus or a nap and he doesn’t want to wake her. Plus then she’ll know he’s been lying about the weekend security job he’s supposed to be at instead of gallivanting around in Berkshire making paczki. She’d hate them even being in the house. Hate him flaunting his shit Polish on TV. But Sasha is still looking at him and he can’t tell her all this sad stuff. 

Somehow his phone is in his hand now and Sasha’s watching him pull up contacts and smiling encouragingly. Maybe she will be proud. Maybe. Sasha seems to think there’s a chance. 

Martin dials the landline and really hopes she doesn’t pick up. 

EXT. CONFESSIONAL, BY THE DUCK POND, BERKSHIRE - DAY.

Martin stands awkwardly with one arm folded across his chest. In the other hand he holds his phone, which is ringing. 

It rings twice. Then a third time. 

MARTIN  
I’m not sure anyone’s home to be honest. 

The phone keeps ringing. 

MARTIN  
Um... well, I guess-

We hear the crunch of gravel and mulch under rapid footsteps. 

A whirling blur as someone runs into frame. Martin makes a surprised sound as he’s grabbed round the middle.  His phone hits the ground. It goes to voicemail.  But it’s okay. Martin’s arms settle gently around Jon’s shoulders, pulling him closer into a proper hug. 

His eyes are wide in shock, but after a second he smiles. He tries and fails not to glance at the camera, maybe a little shyly. Jon hides his expression in Martin’s jumper.

After a second he pulls back. Martin coughs a bit awkwardly, shuffles like he’s expecting Jon to bolt.

He doesn’t though. 

JON  
(Completely genuinely)  Well done. Congratulations, I mean. You, um. That was really good. 

Martin blinks at him for a couple of seconds. The camera zooms in to shoulder height. 

MARTIN  
(Quietly)  Thank you... 

A close up: Martin’s phone is still forgotten in the grass. 

**Author's Note:**

> have to say i am enjoying this au v much... pwease like comment etc x
> 
> this was done as a commission :)) i will probs write more of this au bc i have ideas but if u wanna make sure i do or help me make time for it you can find my commission post w prices n details [here](https://babyyodablackwood.tumblr.com/post/630528010471211008/ao3-fic-commissions-kofi-i-am-offering-proof) <3
> 
> i predictably went over the word count on this commission (as i always do oops!) so if you are feeling generous and would like to support me there is also ko*fi link above ^^ 
> 
> :) x


End file.
